Awaiting Eden
by haleycc
Summary: Sequel to Ahead of Her Time. Meeting Eden has changed the way Buffy sees Spike. But with Buffy rushing the relationship, Spike itching for his soul, Glory after Dawn, and Riley out for vengeance, how will they even make it to next week-much less to the future they've been promised?
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Sequel to Ahead of Her Time. Meeting Eden has changed the way Buffy sees Spike. But with Buffy rushing the relationship, Spike itching for his soul, Glory after Dawn, and Riley out for vengeance, how will they even make it to next week-much less to the future they've been promised?

Disclaimer: The story is mine, but the characters aren't. BTVS belongs to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.

 **Author's Note:** So, it only took a few years for me to get to this sequel! If you haven't already, then read Ahead of Her Time first; otherwise, this won't make much sense. Fair warning: this story is not complete yet. I'm not entirely sure where it's going, but I wanted to explore this world further. Hope you enjoy!

 **Awaiting Eden**

London, 2008 - Prologue

They waited.

Buffy held Spike's hand in a grip tight enough to crush the bones of any ordinary man. Her other hand rested protectively on her growing stomach. It was enough that the demon had gotten to her daughter. No way would anything harm her son.

They waited. Giles paced back and forth in front of the spot where Asher and Eden would appear. _If_ it had all gone as planned. _If_ the time travel thingy had been accurate enough to get Asher to the exact time and place as Eden. _If_ the machine was really powerful enough to bring them both back. _If_ Asher had found her before the time-shifting demon whose name Buffy couldn't even pronounce passed Eden along to the First. Too many _ifs._

They waited. Giles' private library had never seemed more oppressive, books and brown leather and dark wood closing in on Buffy until she felt like she could hardly breathe. She needed her daughter back. Now. All the measures they'd taken to keep her safe: the wards, the charms, the guards, the alarms. All for nothing, because something had gotten to her anyway. What kind of mother would let her child be carried away in the middle of the night? Buffy was the strongest woman in the whole world, the original Slayer, and it wasn't enough. How careless, how selfish of her, of Spike, to prepare for another child when they couldn't even protect the one they already had. It was all her fault…

"Not your fault, luv," Spike growled into her ear. His arms wrapped around her and pulled her against him, her cheek smashing into the smooth cool leather of his duster. "Not anyone's fault…"

Except it was, Spike thought. It was _his_ fault. He was supposed to keep his family safe at all costs. He was a master vampire, for fuck's sake! Faster, stronger, _better_ than he'd been in his entire unlife. His gorgeous wife was pregnant again—bloody miraculous—and he'd promised her that he would fight while she couldn't, that he would be on guard against whatever nasties might arise while she wasn't at her violent, glorious best. He had the whole Slayer Academy as back up—Asher and Giles and Faith and more baby slayers than he could fucking count. And with all that, he'd still managed to muck it up. He'd still managed to lose Eden, still managed to let that demon out of the academy—out of this time!—right under his nose. Sleeping, he'd been, holding his wife close, sleeping the sleep of the completely and utterly useless.

He hadn't thought of Angelus in a while, of those days when they'd had their own perverse, disgusting "family," but he thought of him now, thought of the words Angelus had once used to describe the younger vampire. Careless. Thoughtless. Not worthy of being turned, and for the first time, Spike couldn't help but agree. He wanted to slam his fist into a wall, wanted to go out and find a demon and rip its head off, tear it limb from bloody limb. He had to keep it together, though. Buffy needed him. So he pretended to be calm, pretended he wasn't harboring this rage, this guilt.

She could feel it though, no matter how much she might allow him to pretend otherwise. The same way he could feel her blaming herself, could feel all that fear. It was the magic of the claim, binding them together so tightly that emotionally, it was hard to tell where one of them stopped and the other began.

"Where are they, Watcher?" Spike asked, running one hand through his hair.

"One minute, thirty-eight seconds," Giles said, checking his watch as he paced. "I've done everything, programmed the device for their return. Just another moment and we'll know."

 _Know whether our daughter is still alive,_ Buffy thought. _If she is lost in time somewhere. If she'll ever come back to us._ She thought of Angel's son, Connor, of how he had been pulled into that hell dimension and how when Angel had gotten him back, Connor had been a teenager already and all of those years in between were just…gone. Gone. Buffy clapped a hand over her mouth to hold back the sob that threatened to escape.

"You should have sent me," Buffy said, for what must have been the tenth time. "You should have let me go back to get her." She would already have known what to expect, would have been prepared for the Bringers and the First.

Giles sighed. "Buffy, dear, you know why we couldn't risk that. Besides the fact that the physical stress of the time jump could have been detrimental in your current state," he cleared his throat with a pointed glance at her stomach, "you seeing your past self and worse, your past self seeing you…well, it could have severely disrupted time itself. Trust in Asher, Buffy. He won't let us down."

Just then, the air seemed to shimmer in front of them. Spike's arms tightened around Buffy as slowly, something began to take shape. They held their breaths, silent, as what started as little more than an illusion solidified, took form, and suddenly there was Asher, sitting on the leather sofa with little Eden in his arms. Spike and Buffy watched, transfixed, as their daughter rubbed her eyes in confusion.

Buffy opened her mouth to speak but the only thing that came out was a relieved sob. She and Spike rushed forward to gather the child into their arms. "Oh my god, you're here, you're safe," she murmured into Eden's hair.

And as Buffy clutched her little girl and Spike's arms encircled them both, his silent tears spilling onto Buffy's shoulder, she started to remember things…new things, things she knew had never happened, but that _felt_ real, in her mind.

"It's changing," she whispered, and she didn't have to look at Spike to know that he felt it too.

"Bloody hell," he said, as his memories grew…shifted… _changed_.


	2. Chapter 2

Summary: Sequel to Ahead of Her Time. Meeting Eden has changed the way Buffy sees Spike. But with Buffy rushing the relationship, Spike itching for his soul, Glory after Dawn, and Riley out for vengeance, how will they even make it to next week-much less to the future they've been promised?

Disclaimer: The story is mine, but the characters aren't. BTVS belongs to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.

Author's Note: Some dialogue borrowed from Fool for Love.

 **Awaiting Eden**

Chapter 1

Sunnydale, 2000

 _We're not dating_ , she told herself. _I'm not even thinking about this right now. See, not thinking._ She was hunting. She was a predator, all senses alert for vampire, for demon, for—oh, who was she kidding? She was wandering through the damned cemetery. Sure, she had a stake in her hand, but it was wanderage nonetheless. How many times had she passed this tombstone, anyway? And where were all the demons when she needed a good kill to take her mind off of things?

But it was just her, for now at least, since Spike had apparently decided to keep quiet for once in his unlife. She could feel him, though, somewhere behind her, moving as she moved, going where she went. Silent, though. Big change for him.

With no good demon distractions (of the killing variety), she sighed and plopped down on the tombstone she'd walked past at least five times. She squeezed her eyes shut, not long enough to let any baddies sneak up, just long enough for her mind to conjure up an image—the magical, innocent face of her daughter. It was harder to focus on the here-and-now when she thought of Eden. A big part of her just wanted to get there already, to that point in the future where she was finally content. Or better than content, if she believed Asher. Because he'd told her that in the future, she was blissfully happy.

There were questions, though. The bleach-blond vampire sending tinglies through her body, for instance. He was one big Spike-shaped question mark.

There was the soul thing, for one. He didn't have a soul (not yet, at least), but it _felt_ like he could love her anyway, maybe. When it was just the two of them, alone in his crypt. When he was (gulp) inside of her on that crazy, confusing night. When she'd broken down sobbing after Eden had disappeared, he'd held her and whispered that everything would be okay.

But how could that be? How could a demon without a soul _love_? Giles had always taught her that it wasn't like that, that vamps _couldn't_.

Angelus couldn't.

Questions. She needed to talk to Giles about all of it, about what it all meant. The whole Scooby gang had been carefully avoiding mention of the great "future-watcher-time-travels-to-save-Buffy-and-Spike's-prophecy-child" event of 2000, not that she couldn't understand why. She was still muddling through her Spike-feelings herself. She couldn't begin to guess how the rest of the group was coping.

"Ooh, vamp!" she said, cheerfully, as she caught sight of the dirty vamp with the ripped t-shirt and the bad eighties hair. Really, this guy made Spike look like a style icon. Not that she was thinking of Spike. Nope. But if she were, a good kill would definitely take her mind off of him.

She sprinted over to the vamp and landed a vicious punch that caught him by surprise. He recovered quickly, though, and started fighting back. She'd known he wasn't a newbie just by his awful fashion sense; still, he was no match for her.

"You know, it's probably none of my business, but I just gotta ask," she said, brightly, her mood improving with each kick she landed, "Did you smell this bad when you were alive?"

She was on a roll, her body humming with the thrill of the fight, her mind _finally_ on something other than a certain annoyingly attractive blond vampire.

"If it's a post-mortem thing, then hey— _so_ not your fault, and boy is my face red. But just so you know…" He made a move to hit her, but she blocked him easily and landed her own punch, one that sent him sailing over a tombstone. "The fast-growing field of personal grooming's come a long way since you became a vampire."

Her stake was clutched in her fist and she thrust it at his heart. Perfect fight, perfect kill. But he spun at the last second, twisted her arm, grabbed her stake in his own fist, and with a bloodthirsty grin, plunged Buffy's stake into her stomach.

Her eyes widened in shock as realization hit, her hand moving to where the stake protruded from under her ribs. There was a _stake_ in her body. She'd been staked— _staked_! In all her years of being the Chosen One, never had her own stake been used against her. She'd be pissed if she wasn't so afraid. And in so much pain. She gripped the stake in her right hand and tugged hard, slowly pulling the wood from her body and trying to ignore the squelching sound it made. And the pain. She tried to fight the black fuzzies dancing in front of her eyes, stumbling away at what she hoped was a fast pace. She was relieved when she looked behind her and saw no sign of the vamp, until she turned to face forward and saw that he was right in front of her.

Shit.

"You going?" he asked, a violent grin creeping onto his face. "But you were having so much fun a minute ago."

She was backed up against a tombstone; she'd let herself be cornered. Nowhere to go. The stupid eighties-rocker-wannabe vamp grabbed her by the shoulders. _This is it_ , she thought. Something must have been changed, after all, by Asher coming back for Eden and now she was going to die before she had a chance to ever get to her happy place. She was in the best shape of her life. She'd never had so much to live for, and it was all going to end, like this, not even in some huge apocalyptic battle, but at the hands of this mediocre vamp who'd just happened to get lucky.

And then, as she watched, wide-eyed, expecting to feel the fangs slice into her neck at any moment, she saw two strong, pale hands appear on either side of the vampire's head. "Hands. Off. My. WIFE!" Spike growled from behind the vamp, and then an animalistic roar filled the night air as Spike snapped the demon's head clean off of its shoulders. Buffy stared at Spike in utter shock, oblivious to the vamp-dust settling on her clothes. The strong hands that had just saved Buffy's life caught her before she collapsed against the crypt.

"You can't…call me that," she whispered, before she blacked out in his arms.


	3. Chapter 3

Summary: Sequel to Ahead of Her Time. Meeting Eden has changed the way Buffy sees Spike. But with Buffy rushing the relationship, Spike itching for his soul, Glory after Dawn, and Riley out for vengeance, how will they even make it to next week-much less to the future they've been promised?

 **Author's Note** : Thanks so much for the encouragement and enthusiasm, everyone!

 **Awaiting Eden**

Chapter 2

The stinging sensation woke her, but she was familiar enough with antiseptic to recognize its cold burn. She opened her eyes to find herself lying atop a sarcophagus in Spike's crypt, her scarf and sweater gone and her white camisole rolled up to just below her breasts. Spike was carefully tending to her wound, a look of such intense concentration on his face that he didn't even notice that she was awake.

"Hey," she said.

His eyes found hers, and she could see the worry written in them. "Know it stings, luv," he said. "Had to get it cleaned out, though." He went back to tending her wound, his cool hands on her warm skin distracting her completely from the pain in her abdomen.

Stabbed. By a totally insignificant vamp. _With her own stake._

"I can't believe I blacked out," she muttered.

"Can't believe I let the git _stab_ you," Spike replied.

"I think I was the one who let that happen."

"Thought you were just having a good rough-and-tumble with him. Next thing I know, there is a stake in your bloody side and that Van-Halen wannabe was about to get a taste of you."

"He got me with my own stake. How completely embarrassing. You won't tell anyone, will you?"

Spike chuckled, and the sound of it made Buffy feel warm inside. It made her smile, too.

"Not if you don't tell anyone I was following you around like some love-sick ponce."

"Why _were_ you following me, anyway?" she asked.

He looked sheepish. "Dunno. Wanted to be near you. Didn't know if you felt like company. Seemed like you were trying to work some things out."

"I'm not your wife," she said.

"No, luv, I know that." He looked away. "Think we need to get you to a hospital, let a doctor take a look?"

Buffy shook her head. "That would just make everyone worry. Slayer healing anyway, remember? I'm sure I'll be shiny and new in the morning. I should probably-" She moved to jump down from the sarcophagus, but winced, holding on to her side and lying back down. "Or, you know, maybe I _will_ just hang out here for a few more minutes."

"You need to rest. Come on, let me carry you downstairs, settle you into a nice comfy bed, give you some time to heal up."

"You have a bed?" She asked, curious. "Like, a real bed?" What was down there on the bottom level, anyway?

Spike looked at her like she'd grown a second head. "Course. What kind of monster do you think I am?"

She snorted. "I think I'll just refrain from answering that."

"Ha bloody ha," he said, as he tucked one arm beneath her neck and the other under her knees, and then scooped her up. "Hang on, okay?"

She nodded, and hesitantly wrapped her arms around Spike's neck. God, she was _so_ close to him. Spike-smell invaded her senses—tobacco and alcohol and something dark and masculine that was better than any cologne. If it weren't for this stupid injury and all of the ouchies every time she moved, then maybe she would…she couldn't resist, even _with_ the wound—she darted her tongue out and licked the cool skin of his neck.

Spike froze.

"Did you just _lick_ me, Slayer?"

She flushed, glad he couldn't see her face. "I…uh…maybe?" she stuttered. "Sorry, I don't…it's just, you're so close and…and…I'm injured and possibly in shock…and I just wanted a _taste_ , okay?" She buried her face against his shoulder, knowing he would mock her.

He chuckled again, his throat vibrating against her skin and she had to keep herself from licking him once more. _Bad Buffy. Bad_. "Pet," he said, unable to keep the smirk off of his face though he knew she couldn't see. "You can _taste_ me anytime you like. Anywhere you like, too."

He didn't tell her how much he wanted to return the favor, taste her blood and the salt of her skin and that delicious nectar that flowed between her legs when…bloody hell, he'd given himself an erection. He shook his head and dropped through the hole in the floor to the bottom level of his crypt. He landed gracefully, Buffy only realizing they'd jumped by the flash of wind against her hair and the slightly cooler temperature below.

And holy crap! There was a real bedroom down here. Spike's four poster bed sat majestically in the center of the room, made neatly with fluffy pillows and a soft-looking gray comforter. Fancy rugs overlapped and covered almost the entire cement floor. And books. Spike had three bookshelves, all covered with books that looked way old. All in all, it looked surprisingly unlike a crypt basement.

He set her down gently on the bed.

"Nice place," she said, quietly.

"Thanks, pet."

"Spike, you know I can't…I can't stay here. I've got to get home. There's Mom and Dawn, and they need me. They'll worry." But now that she was here, in Spike's cozy bed, she didn't really feel like moving.

"Relax," he said, settling next to her on the other side of the bed, his back propped against pillows and his legs atop the covers. She stared at his bare feet, elegant toes. Was it even possible to have elegant toes? Yes, yes it was, she decided. The nakedness of his feet felt extremely intimate. Erotic, even. She swallowed hard and looked away.

"Let me call Joyce," he said. "You've got your carry-around phone, right? Celly? I'll let her know that you're all safe and shacking up with the Big Bad tonight, okay?"

She hesitated. She knew she needed to get home. There was Glory to think about, the hellgoddess who was bound and determined to get to Dawn. She needed to be there to protect her, in case tonight was the night.

But…maybe tonight _wasn't_ the night, and moving was really becoming an effort, and there was something so soothing about being here, in her former enemy's cozy bed with all the candles glowing and Spike there next to her.

"Okay," she said, wiggling around as she reached for the phone tucked in her back pocket. "But, um, try to word it a little differently, okay? No need to give my mom the extra-wiggins." She passed the phone to Spike, the device still warm from being so close to her body.

He pressed the buttons and hopped from the bed, pacing the room as he waited for Joyce to answer. His voice was soothing when he spoke, assuring Joyce that Buffy'd had a small mishap and was absolutely, perfectly fine, just resting up there at Spike's crypt, which was completely safe and homey and not at all the creepy place Joyce might have expected a crypt to be.

Answering _those_ questions when she got home was going to be a boatload of fun. While Spike chatted with Joyce (the conversation appeared to have somehow turned casual), Buffy looked around the space. For the hidden bottom level of a crypt, she had to admit that it was cozy…and sexy. Thick white candles on silver plates lit the room in a warm glow. An old wooden dresser sat against one wall, a completely unnecessary (for him, at least) oval-shaped mirror attached to its top. Her eyes continued to survey the room appreciatively. The vamp had done a lot with the place.

She let out a surprised gasp when she saw the cluster of sketches. Some were propped on top of one of the bookshelves, some were tacked into the wall. White paper sheets with charcoal drawings. Sketches of Eden, drawn so skillfully that the little girl looked as though she might leap off of the paper and into existence right before Buffy's eyes.

Buffy had asked Asher, casually, as though it hardly mattered, if she could take a snapshot of Eden, but he'd told her, emphatically, that it couldn't be done—something about leaving physical proof of Eden's existence behind and badness, badness, etc. And she'd been wildly disappointed, but she hadn't argued. But these sketches were almost as good—better, even, because Spike had drawn them. She could practically _see_ the emotion in each stroke of charcoal.

She needed to see them up close.

Careful not to twist her torso more than was absolutely necessary, Buffy climbed from the bed and made her way to the drawings. Spike kept a careful eye on her, but didn't stop her from getting a better look. She let her fingers ghost over the lines, tracing them but not. Eden on the floor of the cavern the night they'd rescued her, little eyes bright with tears. Eden on the sidewalk bench where she'd sat with Spike after her rescue, legs kicking the air, smile on her face. Eden with her tiny fangs out and that golden glint in her eye that Spike had somehow managed to capture with only his pencil. Eden in Joyce's lap, playing with the brown curls of her grandmother's hair. And Eden clutching Buffy in an embrace. It was Buffy's face on display in this one, her eyes closed and features soft.

"Wow," she whispered. She heard Spike end the call. "You made these?" she asked.

He looked sheepish. "Well, I just…didn't want to forget, is all."

"They're _amazing_."

"Yeah?" he asked, as though he had somehow thought that she might be angry with him for the drawings.

"Yeah."

They were quiet for a moment, staring at the sketches. Their daughter.

"Why are vampires such good artists, anyway?" Buffy asked. She shuddered, remembering the sketches Angelus had liked to leave behind.

Spike shrugged. "Have to be, if you're old enough. Cameras weren't always around, pet, and the old ones didn't capture my kind anyway. Wanted to hang on to a memory, you had to put it on paper, either draw it out or write about it."

"Hmm."

"Charmed your mum into being okay with you staying here," he said. "So, let's get you tucked into bed, yeah?"

"I won't break, you know," she said, looking at him with an expression of wry humor. "This isn't my first injury. Might be my most _mortifying_ injury, but definitely not my first."

He frowned. "I know. Course I know that. Just…it bothered me, you know? Seeing that stake sticking out of you like that. Let me take care of you, luv? Just for a bit?"

She sighed. "Okay."

She let him lead her back to the bed. He paused to pull back the covers for her.

"I'm gonna get your sheets all gross," she said, pointing to the mess of dried blood on her tank.

"Here," he said, pulling out a black tee shirt from the dresser and dropping it on the bed in front of her before she could argue. "Can you get out of that top without hurting yourself?"

She nodded, shrugging out of her camisole. Spike stared at her, completely shocked by her lack of modesty. He hadn't even had a second to talk himself into being a gentleman and turning around, and he had to hold back a string of appreciative curse words at the sight he'd been unprepared for. He studied her torso with the bandage spread across her side—a shock of white against the healthy tanned skin. And her breasts, covered by a satiny white bra. Incredible.

She felt his eyes on her and looked up, suddenly self-conscious. _Oh my god, I am undressing in front of Spike!_ What the hell was wrong with her, just pulling off her clothes in front of him like it was natural? Like they were a couple or something. Their eyes met and Buffy's cheeks turned pink at the inspired look on Spike's face. She pulled his tee shirt over her head, surrounding herself with all that darkness and those delicious Spike-smells. She wondered if this was the same shirt she'd worn the night they rescued Eden. How many black tee shirts did he _have_ , anyway?

"In the other time line…" Buffy said, hesitantly. "How do you think it happened? Us growing close, I mean."

Spike was thoughtful for a moment. "Dunno. Can't even imagine what would make a woman like you settle for a thing like me."

They climbed back into the bed in silence, Buffy tucked beneath the covers, Spike lying atop them, still wearing his jeans and tee. He didn't need to look at her to see that she had fallen asleep quickly; he could tell by the slow, steady strum of her heartbeat. But he looked at her anyway. That golden hair spilling around the pillow was irresistible, and he ran his hands through it softly so as not to wake her, leaned close to inhale the tropical, familiar scent of her shampoo.

"Spike?" He stopped. "Are you…sniffing me?"

"I…uh…"

She laughed lightly, and drifted back to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Summary: Sequel to Ahead of Her Time. Meeting Eden has changed the way Buffy sees Spike. But with Buffy rushing the relationship, Spike itching for his soul, Glory after Dawn, and Riley out for vengeance, how will they even make it to next week-much less to the future they've been promised?

Disclaimer: The story is mine, but the characters aren't. BTVS belongs to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.

 **Author's Note:** For purposes of this story, we're going to say that Riley first visited the vampire-bitey warehouse BEFORE he let Sandy have a taste at Willy's. Just roll with it, okay? :)

 **Awaiting Eden**

Chapter 3

"Spike," Buffy whispered, nudging the sleeping vampire with her elbow. God, he really did sleep like the dead. He was silent next to her, one cool arm thrown casually across her breasts. It was a little creepy, the no-breathing thing. She was so used to him breathing that only now did she consider how human it made him seem. Angel had never breathed.

It was dark and chilly in the lower level of his crypt—crypt! She was sleeping in a crypt! But she was warm and cozy, wrapped in his sheets, with his body so close to her own. Still, she couldn't sleep. She'd woken because of the itchy-stingy pain in her side that she knew signaled slayer healing, but that wasn't The Thing that was keeping her awake.

"Spike," she said again, louder this time. "Spike, wake up." She poked him in the ribs, in the stomach, was running her fingertips lightly up his side with intent to tickle when, lightning-fast, he grabbed her wrist and his eyes snapped open.

"Slayer," he grumbled. "Don't you know not to tickle a _vampire_?" She couldn't help but smile, but he could see the weight in her eyes, and it quickly cleared the sleepy haze from his brain. "What is it, pet? What's wrong? Does it hurt?"

"You killed them," she whispered. "Two slayers. One in China during the Boxer Rebellion, one in New York in the 70's."

He raised his eyebrows at her, a wary expression on his face. "I did." She could feel him tense, every muscle in his body prepped to move quickly, if she had somehow decided to exact revenge on behalf of her sister slayers.

She surprised him, though. "I want to know how," she said. "How you did it. Why you won."

"Oh, Buffy," he sighed, body relaxing against her once more. She had one elbow propped on the pillow and was looking down at him. He reached up one hand to push a stray hair behind her ear. "You're not going anywhere, pet. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you."

"It's just…I've been training harder than ever. I'm in the best shape of my life…" she looked away. "There might be something to look forward to, one day." The look of hope on Spike's face was hard to miss, even in the darkness. "I don't _want_ to die, Spike. Not now. Not soon, even."

"You won't," he insisted. "You're the best slayer I've seen. And I've seen a handful in my time. You're bloody marvelous. And you've got your little gang of white hats, and your mum, and Dawn, and well, me. We're going to make sure you're around for a good long time."

Buffy chewed her bottom lip. "I want to know," she said. "I want to know about those fights. The details. How they lost. Why you won. Tell me?"

"No," he said, firmly, lightly pushing away her hand, which she'd settled on his fabric-covered chest.

"Yes."

"No."

"Spiiiike," she whined. It would be so easy to threaten him, to fall back into those old patterns. _I'll break your nose (again) if you don't tell me. I'll make it so you can fit in an ashtray._ It was more of an effort _not_ to do it, to treat him like a person. Like a man. But she knew it was important to change those habits, to give him the one thing, now, that he'd never, ever gotten from her: respect. "Please," she said.

"Buffy, no."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to talk about it, that's why."

"I thought you'd want to tell the tales, brag about your victories."

"Well, shows how much you know," he said, growing more agitated the longer the conversation wore on.

"But, why don't you?"

"Bloody hell, Slayer!" he erupted. "I don't want to because every time I think of those dead slayers, all I see is _your_ face. And _hers_. I see my family, damnit!" He thought of the Chinese slayer—he'd never even known her name. But when he thought about it now, he saw himself tearing into the girl's neck with his fangs, and when she looked at him, her face became Buffy's. Buffy's pretty bow of a mouth gasping his name, her blood spilling from the corners of his lips. When he thought of Nikki, the New York slayer who he'd always looked back on fondly (brilliant fighter, she'd been, had given him what he used to think of as some of the most thrilling fights of his existence), he remembered the triumphant snap of her neck on that subway. But in his mind, now, her body shifted before his eyes, and she became smaller, younger, and before he knew it, he was looking into Eden's eyes—the shock and betrayal on her face making him stagger back until he tripped over his boots. Those were his nightmares, and they visited him often, since Eden had come into their lives.

Buffy was stunned by the look of horror on Spike's face. "Hey," she said, softly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…I didn't know it was like that, for you." She was blown away. Did Spike feel _regret_ for the things he'd done? Wasn't that an emotion reserved for the soul-having?

He shook his head, trying to shake away those visions. "No, pet," he said, quietly. "If it helps keep you alive…if you're sure you want to know, then I'll tell you all about it. Just…promise you won't hate me, when you hear?"

"Okay," she agreed easily, despite the weight of the promise.

"Okay. How about I go put some tea on, then? It's not exactly a short story."

She laughed, in spite of the circumstances. "You've got _tea_ in your crypt?"

"Course. Wouldn't be a proper Englishman if I didn't." He smirked, and disappeared to the upper level, while Buffy propped up the pillows and settled in to hear Spike's story.

* * *

Riley couldn't believe he was drinking at the demon bar again, surrounded by hostiles. Why was he here, anyway? Plenty of non-demon bars in this town, though he probably shouldn't be drinking at all. He was smart enough to know that this wasn't healthy. But if he _was_ going to drink away his sorrows, then maybe, as a former member of the Initiative, Willy's wasn't the safest place for him to do it.

That was the thing, though: he just didn't care anymore. Maybe dangerous was exactly what he needed right now. Maybe it was what he wanted.

"Come here often?" a throaty feminine voice purred in his ear.

"Too much, lately," he said, turning. "But you know that, already. Hello, Sandy." He'd seen her here before, talked with her, even though he knew what she was.

"You told me no vamps," she pouted, looking hurt and a little hesitant as one finger traced the mark on his forearm that he hadn't bothered to hide. "But someone's been getting samples." She pushed a strand of her shining dark hair behind her ear. "And it isn't me." She took a long, slow drink from her vodka tonic, and Riley's eyes traveled to the pale silky skin of her throat as she swallowed. "We could change that, though," she said, when she put the glass down. "If you want."

He was silent.

"Did you like it, at least?" Sandy asked. She looked down, then up at him, her eyes shy but curious. "When she bit you?"

"No." He looked away.

"Someone's telling lies," she teased, a sultry smile chasing away the shyness. "I could make you feel even better, though." She leaned in close. "Me…inside of you…while you're inside of me…" She looked away and took another drink.

Against his better judgment, he thought about it, thought of the perverse intimacy of having that skinny warehouse vamp's fangs buried in his arm, that feeling of being _necessary_. He'd felt strong and reckless all at once. Take that feeling, already erotic, and add the genuine sexual element…maybe something worth considering. It wasn't like Buffy was going to take him back. He touched his still-healing nose gently. And Sandy was certainly nice to look at.

"But Sandy," he said, in his practical military voice. "I hardly know you." Not that it mattered. Not that _she_ mattered. She wasn't even a person.

"We can change that," she said. "Wanna get out of here?"

"That would be wrong," he said.

"If you turn me down again, it might just be the last time I make the offer."

He shouldn't, he knew. He was a wreck after the break-up with Buffy, and he knew that playing with a vamp was dangerous. He thought, bitterly, of Buffy, of her disgusting relationship with Spike. Two can play at that, he thought.

Riley got up from his bar stool, and, turning back, held out a hand to the brunette vamp. "You know what? Show me."

Just outside the bar, she pushed him against the building and kissed him hungrily. His stake was in his waistband. He could turn her to ash so easily. It would be the right thing to do.

But when he moved his hand to reach for it, he found his hand winding itself into her dark hair, instead, found himself tilting his head to one side to give her better access to his neck.


End file.
